


I Greet You

by eaglebearer (biotickaidan)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Mild Sexual Content, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 12:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19928377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biotickaidan/pseuds/eaglebearer
Summary: Kassandra took Charon’s outstretched left hand, his ferryman’s pole in his right, and let him guide her aboard the boat. He rowed the skiff with practiced ease, fierce and focused. She thought of all the times she’d brushed death, bleeding out from wounds that would’ve killed ordinary mercenaries.





	I Greet You

**Author's Note:**

> fyi, this references the atlantis ending but doesn’t comply with the fate of atlantis dlc because i haven’t played it (and from what i’ve heard i’m not gonna love it). also, i apologize for any historical inaccuracies or misinterpretations of ancient greek lore. this was just me having fun writing some kassidas afterlife feels.

Kassandra felt one thing above all else when she died: relief. It surged through her and welcomed her, and as the young woman took the staff from her— _finally_ —she’d never felt lighter. She’d been Keeper for so long, for millennia, and her job was done.

“Earth, mother of all, I greet you,” she said. But it was a person she was most anxious to see. Kassandra had ached for him, imagined his phantom touch, dreamed he kissed her lips even after his body was cold; and when that faded, she thought of him fondly, imagined she saw him in the halls of Atlantis. She dreamt she told him her centuries-worth of stories and imagined his laugh, his easy smile reserved only for her and their war tent, their bedroll, their watch by the fire before Amphipolis.

Once she’d visited the Archaeological Museum of Amphipolis and read an inscription lauding Brasidas’ glory in battle. Every word was true, but it infuriated her nonetheless. She detested the pomp and circumstance. If anyone deserved it, it was him. But she didn’t have to be happy about it.

She read stories about herself, Alexios, and Deimos too. They were further from the truth, and Kassandra had almost barked out a laugh at their absurdity, more legend and myth than reality. She would have given anything to see the historian’s face upon realizing she was still around. It might have been the first time she’d killed someone without touching them. Or at least made them swoon.

A docent had spotted her lurking. _Malákas!_ Sloppy from old age? She’d figured millennia gave her an excuse. The docent’s eyes had widened, furtively glancing around, then she’d shaken her head. By the time the mystified docent could’ve looked back to see if Kassandra was real, she had slipped out of the building and perched atop the roof.

Now it didn’t matter what the stories said. Nothing compared to the real thing.

Kassandra greeted the ferryman with a grin. She dug in her pocket for drachmae, tossing a coin to him easily. “For your troubles,” she said.

She was free.

“It has been a long time, misthios.”

“I had a duty. But it is done.”

“Come.”

Kassandra took Charon’s outstretched left hand, his ferryman’s pole in his right, and let him guide her aboard the boat. He rowed the skiff with practiced ease, fierce and focused. She thought of all the times she’d brushed death, bleeding out from wounds that would’ve killed ordinary mercenaries. She remembered Brasidas washing and bandaging her wounds, his calloused hands caressing her skin gently, reverently, looking at her in awe because he had no choice but to acknowledge she healed faster than any of his men. If not for the blood of Leonidas, she would’ve greeted Charon much sooner.

Only then did she consider she might never see Brasidas again. She glanced up at Charon, studied him like she’d studied her targets in the Cult of Kosmos ages ago. “Where will I go? Do I deserve the depths of Tartarus?”

The noise Charon made might’ve been a laugh. “You know better than to ask. I do not judge souls, I only carry them.”

Kassandra remained silent for the rest of her journey across the Styx and Acheron. The dark waters sloshed against the sides of the skiff. She watched the ripples disturb the smooth, black surface, following their pattern back to the shore. Wayward souls who couldn’t afford passage wandered the river’s banks, and Kassandra knew she should be lucky to cross. Was it worse to be stuck without Charon’s obol, or to be damned to the darkest abyss? In Hesiod’s poems, it took a bronze anvil nine days to fall to earth and another nine to fall to the depths of Tartarus. It would be so dark—darker than an inky black sky, than a shadowy cave, than the Cult’s hooded cloaks. She swallowed thickly. She hadn’t been an honorable soldier like Brasidas, glorious and heroic, with a softer heart than any other Spartan she’d ever known. _Doomed to my fate_ , she thought. It was up to the Judges to decide if her duty as Keeper redeemed her to walk the fields of Elysium and meet him again.

* * *

She stood with her head held high before the Judges of the dead: Aeacus, the guardian of the Keys; Rhadamanthus, the Lord of Elysium; and Minos, the judge of the final vote. They stared down at her with unwavering eyes, appraising her with no hint to their ultimate decision. She said nothing. What could she say? Kassandra knew what she deserved for the blood on her hands, red and sticky and endless. She hadn’t saved Phoibe. She hadn’t stopped Deimos from murdering Brasidas.

They argued among themselves for what felt like forever, but time moved differently here and she had no choice but to wait. It could’ve been minutes or hours or days. Finally, Minos squinted at her from his dais. His gaze was sharp and all-knowing, and she tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. She’d never liked to be scrutinized. She’d fought countless men in countless brawls for looking at her like that, challenging her. But now, staring up at the solemn faces of the Judges in the vast stone chamber, Kassandra had no one left to fight.

“Kassandra of Sparta,” Minos’ voice rang out, “you have quite the reputation!”

She clenched her jaw.

“You’ve spilled the blood of innumerable victims, gutted men and left them to bleed out, wild animals feasting on their entrails, as they took their agonizing last breaths. So much red on your hands for Sparta. And Athens too. You know no loyalty but to drachmae. Is that not true, Kassandra of Sparta?”

“No! I—”

“We know your heart, Kassandra,” Minos interrupted. “How naive to think your love isn’t twisted when it causes so much pain.”

“How _dare you_?” she gritted out through bared teeth.

“No need for anger, Kassandra. We judge deeds, but none of our laws grant true justice nor condemnation for your actions. It is a place you seek, for a person, but remember, we give no reward.”

Kassandra’s heart sank. So she would know the infinite blackness of Tartarus.

“Yet you wielded the Spear of Leonidas and the Staff of Hermes Trismegistus without being corrupted into madness,” Minos continued. “You shall walk the fields of Elysium as the blood of Leonidas, Kassandra of Sparta.”

“I—” She blinked. Her heart raced. She’d see Brasidas again and Leonidas, but… _Remember, we give no reward_.

“Do not bother to thank us. We have no need for sentiments from deceased souls. Go.”

* * *

She wandered the fields of Elysium, running her hands through the tall, swaying grass. The sky was a stunning cloudless swath of the bluest blue Kassandra had ever seen. She breathed in deep, tipping her face up to the sun and closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, she spotted Brasidas from across the field, surrounded by blood orange poppies. He smiled and strode toward her. His gaping wound was healed, no longer sewn together with crude stitches, but smooth and unscarred as if Deimos hadn’t thrust his spear through his skull. Kassandra chewed her lower lip, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Seeing Brasidas again and thinking of that day on the beach, the sound of her screams so loud and hoarse they were unrecognizable, rage bubbled up inside her. She reminded herself she’d made peace with that thousands of years ago. She had forgiven Alexios.

“Kassandra, my love.” Pure longing colored his voice, and it fueled inexplicable anger inside her.

“You didn’t drink of the Lethe! What if I’d gone to Tartarus? You’d never drink?” Her words spilled out of her in a rush, leaving her panting. She glared at him.

“I did not wish for forgetfulness and the ease of oblivion. It was worth it to remember you.”

“I… I understand,” she said, her quick fury dissipating. “But—” Kassandra’s voice cracked. She touched his face, traced her fingers along his jaw where his scar should’ve been. “I’m sorry, Brasidas. I’m so sorry. If I’d been more honest about who Deimos was, I could’ve—”

“Kassandra,” he murmured. He reached out to cradle her face in his hand, and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I was a spy before I was a general.”

“You knew! _Malákas!_ Of course you knew.”

“Forgive me.”

“Brasidas, I lived for thousands of years, and I wanted to see you again. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Thousands of years…?” Brasidas’ eyes widened. “That explains your clothes,” he teased.

She laughed soft and quiet and just for him. He leaned closer, circling his arms around her. “Looks more difficult to remove than a chiton.”

She smirked. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

“Tell me,” he countered. “Tell me what happened. Kassandra, thousands of years… I… I can’t even imagine.”

“Kiss me, and I promise I will.”

* * *

So they kissed and kissed and kissed, soft and sweet, Brasidas’ lips warm against Kassandra’s, until they grew hot and hungry, and Brasidas nipped at Kassandra’s exposed throat. She arched into him, feeling fire in her veins. In death, she felt alive, very much alive. And then they fucked on a bed of poppies, crushing the bright flowers beneath them as Brasidas thrust into her, pressing her hips into the earth and burying his face in her neck. His breath was hot on her skin, and she felt more than heard his low moan when he came.

They lay together in the poppies, crushed petals tangled in their hair. Kassandra was sated and so full of love she’d almost forgotten Minos’ ominous words. _Remember, we give no reward._ She worried her bottom lip and turned to admire Brasidas.

_Fuck Minos_. It was a reward to lean in and kiss him and smile against his mouth.


End file.
